


Tangled

by Beyondthelimit8266



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Flirting, Hair Braiding, Jon has beautiful hair, M/M, Martin really love Jon's hair, Post-The Watcher's Crown (The Magnus Archives), These boys are so damn in love, the magic of showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27168403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beyondthelimit8266/pseuds/Beyondthelimit8266
Summary: Martin likes Jon's hair. Like, a lot. He also loves Jonathan Sims. Like, a lot.These two boys absolutely love each other so much. Wholesome shenanigans ensue.*Fun drinking game: take a shot every time I write the word "hair".
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 11
Kudos: 149





	Tangled

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write a fluffy, romance piece. So, here she is!

“Looks like you’ve got a friend there.” Martin says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over them. 

“Hm?” Jon glances over to his traveling companion, who’s gripping the straps on his backpack like a school boy on his way to an excitable field trip. Martin gestures loosely at the top of Jon’s head. “It’s twiggy.” He supplies, which clarifies nothing. Jon's hand reaches up towards his head where all of his unwashed, knotted hair has been piled haphazardly. Sure enough, he feels a sizable twig jutting up out of the tangled, greasy strands of his bun.

“Oh.” He murmurs. “Wonder how long he’s been hitchhiking.” He grips the twig in an attempt to yank it out. 

“Probably a while.” Martin responds jovially, not noticing Jon beginning to lag behind. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw a tree. Honestly wouldn’t mind a bit of foliage right about now. Getting a little tired of the dank, desolate wasteland look. You know, the next time we see a tree, we should carve our initials in it. Wouldn’t that be cute? Martin and Jon. M and J. What do you think?” Martin pauses and glances behind him. “Jon?” 

Jon is standing a couple of strides back, still tugging at the twig in his hair. Strands have begun to fall from the worn elastic band and hang lackluster in his face, curled and kinked from their time stuffed into the tight, serviceable knot atop Jon’s head. He has both hands up towards his hair now, pulling at the stiff, dirty strands. It appears that rather than untangling the twig, he’s twisting it in deeper somehow. 

“Hold on, hold on!” Martin says hastily, plopping his pack onto the ground to scurry over to his boyfriend. “Hold on before you rip all your hair out!” He playfully knocks Jon’s hands aside. 

“Maybe we should just cut it all off.” Jon croaks, half jokingly. Despite himself, he can feel embarrassment heating his cheeks. He ducks his head to his chest so that Martin can easily survey the tangled crop of dark brown and gray stands. “It’s more messy and inconvenient than anything else.”

“What? No, I love your hair. I mean, unless you want to cut it.” Martin begins to comb through Jon’s hair with his fingers. “I bet you’d look hot with short hair. But I mean, I think you also look good with long hair.”

“If you don’t want me to cut it, you can say so.” Jon chortles, feeling Martin skillfully begin to untangle the twig from his hair. 

“I mean, it's your choice, you know? It shouldn’t matter what I think, you know. Your hair, your choice.” Martin chuckles nervously. “I think you’d look great either way.” 

“Martin.” Jon says, raising his head. Martin’s hands fall away. “Do you want me to keep my hair long?” 

Martin blushes, and casts his gaze off to the side. He brings his hands together to twiddle his thumbs. “Well, I mean it’s up to you. But, I mean, back at the Institute, I always thought you had the most beautiful hair. You know, all dark and then the striking gray. Very thick and glossy. And I always liked watching you put it up. I just thought it was pretty, you know?” Martin speaks hastily, like he’s trying to get all his words out in one breath. His blush has grown and spread to encompass his entire face and the beginning of his neck. 

When Martin finally glances back at Jon, Jon has a small quirk in the corner of his lips. He lowers his head again, and Martin gleefully returns to his task of freeing the twig. 

“You’re very good at this.” Jon murmurs lowly. Martin chuckles. 

“Got it from taking care of my ma.” He supplies. “Ta-da!” 

Jon raises his head to see Martin holding out the now freed twig. It is quite longer than he first thought, and despite Marin’s skillful extraction, it has still claimed a few of Jon’s hairs. He takes it from Martin with a laugh. “Why, thank you.” He dramatically exclaims.

“You’re welcome, my dear sir.” Martin responds equally dramatic. He picks up his discarded pack and shoulders it once more. He then turns to watch as Jon undoes the bun. His hair falls about his shoulders, reaching down to the middle of his back. This is the first time in days that he’s taken down his hair, and the grime of their travels is evident in the chaotic mop of strands. Jon has an open look of disgust on his face as he pulls his hair up into a new topknot. 

“You know,” Martin begins as Jon resumes his place by his side, “maybe we’ll find an abandoned spa or something, and we can have a hair day.” 

“Yeah.” Jon mumbles, tucking the last fly-away hairs behind his ears. He reaches out his hand, and Martin takes it, beaming down at him. “Maybe.” 

\----

As it turns out, it’s not a spa they find. It’s Mikaele Salesa and Annabelle Cane and their huge, prestigious manor that is somehow divorced from the horrors affecting the rest of the world. Jon hardly remembers Salesa’s big reveal, as he and Martin had almost immediately fallen dead asleep the second they crossed the threshold of the manor. 

What he does remember is the exact moment he woke, light cresting across his opening eyelids. He’s tucked away in a lush king size bed. He can feel the heavy warmth of the duvet surrounding him and the plush pillow cradling his head. Martin is laying next to him, absolutely dead to the world. 

Jon lays there, admiring Martin’s sleeping form. This is the most comfortable I’ve ever seen him, Jon thinks languidly to himself, and it is. Martin is curled on his side, facing Jon, hair sticking straight up from his head in auburn corkscrews. His mouth is slightly open, and a light snore filters from him. A thin, silver line of drool traverses his cheek to come to rest in a damp spot on his pillow. Jon lets out a low snicker when he sees it. He feels a bone deep gratefulness that Martin is able to reach a sleep deep enough as this. 

He lays there, keeping watch over the man next to him, until Martin finally begins to stir awake. He blinks blearily at Jon, then rubs his balled up fists into his eyes to chase away any remaining fatigue. The move is so adolescent and adorable that Jon feels a rush of endearment flood his chest. 

“Mornin’.” Martin murmurs, his words still slurred with sleep. 

“Good morning.” Jon replies. Martin burrows deeper into his pillow, then glances up at him. Jon curls deeper into the pillow and peeks at Martin. They gaze at each other, soft smiles curling upon their lips. They lay there most of the morning, just soaking in the warmth and comfort of the bed and themselves. 

It’s Martin who breaks the sleepy silence, sitting up and stretching. “There’s a bathroom attached to this room.” He says, pointing to the pristine door opposite the entryway to the room. Jon nods blearily into the pillow. “I think we should use it.” Martin says. 

“Oh? Should we?” Jon grumbles, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows at Martin. Martin snorts playfully and tosses his crinkled pillow at him. Jon expertly dodges it by not moving at all and letting it land softly on his face. 

“You’re cute. I’d love to shower with you one day.” Martin says, as he slowly extracts himself from the bed. “But for our first post-apocalyptic showers, it’d probably be more, uh, hygienic for us to take turns.” Martin theatrically shivers. “I can literally feel all the dirt and mud and whatever else we managed to wade through.” 

Jon smiles up at him. “We can take turns.” 

“Just this one time.” Martin supplies, then ducks down to plant a chaste kiss on Jon’s cheek. “I’ll go first.” 

Jon nods, and watches as Martin disappears into the bathroom. He feels a gentle peace flood over him as the muffled sound of the shower starts up. Martin’s whistling a small, happy tune that filters pleasantly out through the door. Jon twists in the bed, flips his pillow to the cool side, and curls into a tight ball. He lets the quiet hum of the shower wash over him. 

The next thing he knows, Martin is leaning over him and gently shaking him awake. Jon looks at him. Martin’s skin looks clean and soft and is flush with the residual warmth of the shower. His auburn hair looks fluffy and fresh, still slightly damp. The locks are tousled, like he had just finished towel drying it. He smells like soap, hints of floral and citrus radiating off him. He smiles down at Jon, and his teeth are shiny and newly brushed. 

“Your turn.” He says, gently brushing a few stray strands of hair off Jon’s face. 

“Already?” Jon groans, slowly sitting up and stretching his arms up over his head. 

Martin chuckles. “I was in the shower for, like, an hour. You must have fallen right back asleep.” 

Jon shrugs. “I’m tired, I guess. Can’t remember the last time I slept this well.”

Martin smiles and tucks a stray hair behind Jon’s ear. “Yeah, me neither. Go shower. The water pressure is amazing.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” Jon huffs playfully, swinging his legs off the bed. He pads over to the bathroom. Behind him, he can hear Martin pulling the duvet and sheets of the bed. 

When he gets into the bathroom, Jon gazes into the mirror, which is still lightly fogged from Martin’s shower. He can hardly recognize himself. Heavy, dark bags hang under his eyes, despite the refreshing sleep he had just experienced. His already brown skin is darker with the tan he gained from the hours of walking under the baking sun in the desolate wasteland outside. His fingernails have grown long but are chipped and caked with mud and dust. Jon can even see the dark smears of mud across his skin like cartoonish blotches of paint. 

He’s wearing the threadbare boxers and the tattered shirt he had meandered into the manor with. Annabelle must have taken the time to pull off his socks, shoes, and dirt smeared jeans when he and Martin collapsed in front of her. Whether that was to ensure his comfort or to avoid getting his grime on her clean sheets, Jon doesn’t know and doesn’t care to.

Looking in the mirror again, Jon finally looks at the rat’s nest on top of his scalp. His deep sleep on the pillow must have caused locks of hair to tumble out of the bun and dangle limply in his face and on his neck. He’s gotten more gray hair, making the knots swirl with an interesting mixture of light and dark. He’s also embarrassed to see that his hair is so greasy it looks actually wet. With a heaving sigh, Jon reaches up to tug out the elastic band that is holding his hair up. Jon can feel a slightly painful twinge as his hair falls away from the position it had held for so long. He scrubs his fingers against his scalp, once again getting used to the feeling of having his immense hair down and loose. 

Finally, Jon drops his hands. He looks in the mirror one last time before dropping his boxers and shucking his shirt. He turns the shower on, makes the water temperature as hot as it goes, and finally clambers in. 

The feeling of the water landing on his skin is almost heavenly, and Jon lets out an audible sigh. He leans his head against the shower wall and simply relishes in the feeling of the warm water rushing over him. He stares down at the drain and is already beginning to see the swirling water turn dark with dirt. 

Jon surveys the products that the shower is stocked with: two toothbrushes (one orange and one green), a new tube of toothpaste, a small tube of facial wash, a basic bottle of shampoo and conditioner, and a vague bar of white soap. Martin had obviously used the orange toothbrush, as the bristles were damp and slightly flattened, so Jon scoops up the green brush, tops it with a generous dollop of toothpaste, and spends the next ten minutes scrubbing the month old buildup from his teeth and tongue.

Jon then cleans his face with the facial scrub. As he washes away the soap, Jon feels like years of dirt and dust are being lifted from his flesh. 

When Jon pops open the bottle of shampoo, he forgoes depositing some on his hand to instead dump half of the bottle directly onto his head. He rakes his fingers through his hair, feeling the grime and dirt and any remnant of the outside world fall away into the drain. When he washes away the last of the shampoo, he follows suit with half of the conditioner. He scrubs the sweet smelling conditioner into his scalp with an excitement he hasn’t felt in a long time. As he tugs his fingers through the strands, he can feel knots and tangles yield and undo, leaving his hair smooth and silky. He washes away the last of the conditioner and feels his hair hang clean and wet against his bare back. 

Finally, Jon seizes the bar of soap and begins to thoroughly wash every last inch of his skin until he is a light shade of pink all over his body. When he stands under the spray, watching the muck slough off, he begins to clean again. He scrubs himself a total of four times before he finally shuts off the water and climbs slowly out of the shower. 

There are two clean, white towels folded pristinely on the counter. Next to them is a neatly folded pair of jeans, boxers, and a single dark grey button down. Jon grabs one of the towels, and does his best to shove all of his hair into a poorly constructed towel wrap. He grabs the second towel and gently dries himself off. As he pulls on the boxers and jeans, Jon thinks that he feels twenty pounds lighter. Jon decides to ignore the button up for now. 

He exits out of the bathroom in a puff of humid steam. Martin is laying on the barren mattress, having pulled off the soiled sheets and duvet and depositing them in the corner. Apparently pulling off their pants and shoes wasn’t enough to save Annabelle’s sheets. 

Martin glances up and beams at him. “Well? Feel better?” 

“Absolutely.” Jon responds. Martin then glances at the haphazard towel wrap slowly slipping off Jon’s head and snickers. 

“What?” Jon jokingly snarks. “I have a lot of hair.” 

“No, no.” Martin chuckles. “I like it. I think it’s high fashion.” 

“Well, thank you, cause I do too.” Jon huffs, then wanders back to the bathroom to use the mirror. The bed springs creak as Martin crawls off the bed to follow him. He leans casually against the bathroom door frame and watches as Jon roots around the drawers in search of a brush. He finds one in the drawer closest to the wall. Holding the brush in one hand, Jon tugs off the towel wrap, and his damp hair collapses around his shoulders and against his back. 

As he’s lifting the brush to his hair, he hears Martin quietly clear his throat. 

“Uh, I could help you with that.” Jon glances over at Martin. He’s no longer languidly leaning against the door frame. He’s now standing nervously in the doorway, twiddling his thumbs and glancing off to the side. “Uh, only if you want, of course. I mean-” 

“Sure.” Jon says, holding out the brush. Martin lets out a little relieved sigh and takes it. He situates himself behind Jon and begins to gently pull the brush through Jon’s hair. 

The bristles of the brush glide smoothly through the dark hair, clean and fresh and tangle free. Martin carefully runs his fingers through the strands. If he does encounter a small knot, he cautiously and expertly untangles it. He pulls the hair back from Jon’s face and his cool fingers make contact with Jon’s flushed cheeks. Goosebumps erupt on Jon’s neck. 

“This is nice.” Jon says simply, for lack of anything else to say. Martin chuckles behind him. Jon peeks at himself in the mirror. Martin is taller than he is, yet seems softer and less pointed and frail. He’s handling Jon’s hair with an almost reverence, a soft respect that sends a warm, swooping feeling into Jon’s belly. He thinks to himself that he has never felt as loved as he does in this moment.

“Want me to put it in a braid?” Martin asks. Jon nods, and Martin looks down and begins the tender and diligent task of twining Jon’s hair into a thick braid. They sit in silence as he does this, the only sounds Martin’s skilled hands and the slow drip drops of water from the shower. 

After he finishes braiding, Martin pulls an elastic from his wrist and secures the end. He lets the braid rest heavy and damp on Jon’s back. 

“Thank you.” Jon says. He turns around to look at Martin. 

“My pleasure.” Martin beams, tucking the brush back into the drawer. “You know I love your hair.” 

“Yeah.” Jon mumbles softly. He stands on his toes to kiss Martin. “I know.”


End file.
